


I'll Just Hold On

by nbarker1990



Category: Country Music RPF, Rock Music RPF, The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 21:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7590538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbarker1990/pseuds/nbarker1990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You made vows a long time ago: to cherish, to love, to be faithful. They made those vows too...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lonely Tonight

It’s easy to forget, to wake up in the middle of the night and roll over, only to find a bare pillow and cold sheets. He’s been gone for two weeks already and she knows she’s meant to be used to the absences. In some ways, she is. She’s also used to the disappointments, to the unsettled feeling that her life is missing something important, even to the lies her husband seems to think convince her. It doesn’t make it any easier, though. She misses him, plain and simple.

She makes the call at 1.35am, while waiting for Apollo to wake up for a feed. When he picks up, it’s a relief to hear his voice more than it is a pleasure. 

“Yeah, what?” he asks, and maybe sometimes she wishes he was a little kinder, a little warmer, but she’s long learned to accept and love her husband for who he is, not for what she thinks his potential might be. 

“Just wanted to check in, see how the gig went.”

“Pretty great,” he says, with a little more enthusiasm in his voice (and she wishes it wasn’t just for his music). “Crowd were pretty up for it, responded really well.”

“Celebrating now?”

Maybe she’d accidentally let a hint of her concerns (well-founded ones, if she’s honest) into her own tone, because his suddenly changes as well. Cold again. 

“I’m on tour, honey, so yes, I’m allowed to occasionally have a drink and some time out with my mates. I’m not fucking someone while talking to you, if that’s what you’re asking…”

Cringing at his bluntness (he’s more measured and controlled when he’s sober, which he’s clearly not right now), Gwen bites her lip, tries to keep everything light as she ignores his last sentence. “Apollo’s crawling faster now and Zuma keeps pushing him in the butt, trying to help. It’s pretty cute.”

“Send me a video tomorrow?”

And that’s her cue. Sighing, she rolls over in bed, curls up in the middle. “Sure. I will. Guess you’ve got stuff to do?” He doesn’t respond. “Alright then. Talk soon. Love you.”

“Yeah, you too.” He hangs up. 

Being in a marriage where your husband is often away on tour is hard. Knowing that he doesn’t miss you nearly as much as you miss him is infinitely harder.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They fight hard and they love even harder, but in quiet moments like this, sitting on opposite ends of the couch in an uncomfortable silence, he wonders how long that can sustain them. One of the reasons he’s always been drawn to long-term relationships, even to marriage, is because there’s a security there, a knowledge that you’re loved and can love in return. He appreciates the quiet, those moments alone while hunting or in his fields, but he craves company too, especially his wife’s. 

Ran, though, he feels, sometimes gets frustrated by it, is on edge when they spend too much time together. Maybe it’s a personality defect in him or something, but in the past two years, maybe even more, it’s just become more and more difficult to make her happy. She has a gorgeous smile and it hurts him to see her morose, and so he does his best - buys her gifts, tries to give her space, showers her with compliments. It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate them exactly, but those occasions where his thanks is accompanied by that slightly brittle smile? He’ll admit - even if just to himself - that it hurts, knowing he isn’t enough.

“Want a coffee?” he asks, his voice sounding unused and scratchy even to his ears. He hates that, kind of wants to be that annoying couple who always have something to talk about. 

“Guess so.” She’s got her guitar on her lap, half-heartedly strumming chords and occasionally humming along, and he’s tempted to pitch it across the room, so badly does he want to be the one she wants to touch and caress. 

“Be right back,” he replies, like she’d even be interested. 

She’s curled up in the very corner of the sofa, her eyes shut tight and her mouth slightly open, when he returns, drinks in hand. One of the puppies is nudging Miranda with its wet nose and he scolds it gently, picks it up and puts it on its little doggy bed a few feet away. 

“Hey, Ran. Sweetheart…” He puts a hand on her shoulder and she mumbles unhappily, pushes it away. “Did you want the coffee?”

His wife doesn’t answer, just turns her back to him. An old ragged blanket is hanging over the back of the couch so he gently places it over her. She’ll come up to bed eventually and maybe she’ll want to talk. Or maybe not.

He guesses he'll just wait.


	2. Push and Shove

People seem to think avoiding conflict is easy, that it’s a simple matter for her to just roll over and be steamrolled. It’s not. She has a temper, just like everyone else, but she just tries to keep reins on it. Self-control, she strongly believes, is an underrated character trait.

“For god’s sake, Gwen.” His voice is loud and harsh, and she suddenly wonders when the appeal of his accent became lost to her. “Did you even THINK? It’s fucking important to me, you know that.”

She clutches the edge of the bench, watches as her knuckles whiten the harder she holds on. The older boys are at school, but Apollo’s asleep upstairs and the idea of him waking up right now has her feeling weirdly teary. Gavin’s always been a good father, but lately it’s like he sometimes forgets to be careful. Maybe there’s something going on with him and she can justify it that way, but he’d never tell her even if that was the case. He’s never been a sharer, only begrudgingly letting her in a little when she begs.

Begging is the worst.

“We discussed it, Gavin, only a week ago. Apollo’s going to start getting around more easily, and you know he’ll hurt himself if you just leave the guitar propped up there.”

Her husband rolls his eyes, takes a long drink from the smoothie she’d made for him earlier. “Well, hopefully he inherited my more co-ordinated genes, then. Look, honey,” he says, his voice quieter, sweeter. She doesn’t need placating, though, wishes she could tell him so. “How about you bring it back down here and if it DOES cause a problem, I’ll move it, okay? That would be more sensible.”

“I thought moving it _before_ our baby gets hurt might be a sensible idea, funnily enough…”

“I’m sorry but you’re wrong on this one.” And with that, he presses a quick kiss to her lips, turns and leaves the room. Discussion over, argument finished before it can even really start. Gwen doesn’t chase after him, of course, because these days, she tries to let the little things go.

She still wonders if, one day, he’s going to want to let _her_ go.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She used to panic, endlessly worry that he would leave her, cheat on her, break her heart. Blake thinks that that was probably preferable to the feeling of ambivalence currently radiating off her as she skims through the magazine he’s handed her. ‘Marriage in trouble!!!’ the headline screams at him. He wants to put a stupid fat black mark through the words, wants them to be untrue so badly. But…

He swallows the words he wants to say (are we okay? do you still love me? maybe we should try counseling?) and puts an arm around her. She doesn’t shrug him off, just leans into his touch and sighs. Grateful, he kisses the top of her head, lets his fingers tilt her face up to his so he can kiss her, slow and deep. 

She tastes of whiskey and apologies, and he just wants to remember this moment forever. When she breaks away from him, he’s ready to put voice to his thoughts, to try and convince her that things can be better. Instead, he watches warily as she tears up a little and fists his shirt. Miranda’s pretty controlled usually but lately she’s seemed a bit more on edge, maybe even breakable, even though he doesn’t like to use that word about such a strong, amazing woman.

“Hey, there,” he whispers into her hair. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she replies on a breath. “I just… I wish I could hate you. It would make this easier.”

She doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t even try to explain what the fuck she means by that, and Blake finds himself with a tightness in his chest that’s making him feel almost ill. “The hell, Miranda?”

Her eyes are wet when she looks at him, flashing with something that looks far too close to icy anger for his liking. She’s never been anything but a mean drunk, and he finds himself wondering if she’s had too much already today. He hates that that’s something he’s even considering and yet… 

“You can’t just say that.”

“I fuckin’ can,” she retorts, moving away from him and putting a cushion in her lap. A barrier. He knows that one. “I can fucking say what I want, ‘kay? I just…” She visibly deflates. “I can’t do this.”

He wants to get some clarification, even if he’s slightly scared by the almost fatalistic tone to her words, but he lets her go. 

After all, one less fight is one less reason for him to wonder if his nightmare will become reality and maybe they won't last after all. 


	3. Red Flag

The first day she finds herself wondering is the day Zuma innocently asks her why Dad keeps changing the passcode on his phone, why he always refuses to let him borrow it. They’ve agreed that the boys won’t be getting cellphones until they reach their teens but both of them like to play games on Mom and Dad’s phones. She has no problem with that and she’d assumed Gavin was fine with it too. 

Apparently not. 

The house is quiet and she finds herself wanting to fall back into old patterns, giving into her curiosity, her fear. Their therapist had once told her that a relationship built on mistrust is unhealthy, that if she feels vulnerable and in need of reassurance, she simply needs to talk to her husband about it. She knows better than to do that. Liars lie. She’d hoped it was all over, though, that maybe _this_ time the promises would stick…

“Gwen?” Sighing, she pokes her head around the corner, sees Mindy waving at her. “Apollo wants you. He won’t settle, sorry.”

She reassures the girl that it’s okay, follows her into her youngest son’s bedroom and picks him up from the crib. Closing her eyes, she lets herself be comforted by the miracle of her child. 

“Can I just - ”

She turns to face the nanny, smiles gently. “Of course. I’ve got this. Hey, d’you think you could maybe ring Gavin for me? Ask him if he can pick something up for dinner after the game?”

“Of course.” Mindy smiles brightly and Gwen’s suddenly struck by how tired she looks.

“Hey, you okay? You just look a bit - ”

The smile is even bigger, brighter. Faker. Her eyes drop and she watches as Mindy’s fingers fidget with the hem of her shirt. Nerves. 

No. She swallows the hint of suspicion caught in her throat. She’s pretty sure there are still times on tour where he gives into temptation, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t… No. Smiling back, a little forced, she tucks Apollo closer to her body. “Hey, maybe I’ll just call him, actually.”

Frustration crosses the girl’s face so quickly, Gwen almost misses it. Almost.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She’d stumbled into his arms and shoved her tongue down his throat without a single word the second he’d walked through their door. “Thank god, thank god” she’d said over and over again. “I thought you’d never come.” Their love-making had been slightly desperate, slightly rough, and even a little awkward. She’d been tipsy and he’d been on edge. 

As she lays in his arms afterwards, still slick with sweat, he wants to ask her what’s wrong. Because something is. He’s been trying to ignore it these past couple of weeks but… “Ran, honey. We need to talk.” She scratches his chest lightly, nuzzles into the crook of his neck.

“Nope. Just hold me. Please.”

“You can’t keep doing this, darlin’. You’re hurtin’, I know you are. I just want to make it better, y’know?”

Her breath is a heavy sigh and it pains him. 

“Please.”

She pushes off him, grabs her clothes off the floor and goes to the bathroom. Blake groans and turns over, hits his head against the mattress. They’re had rough patches in their relationship before, even in their marriage, but this is different somehow. They’re not fighting and they’re spending time together and he’s given up on asking about plans for expanding their family, and yet the emotional chasm between them is fucking growing and growing and growing. 

Her phone lights up from where it sits next to their bed, and he grabs it, squinting at the screen as he tries to take the words in. Why the fuck is she being texted about work at this time anyway? “Baby? Text just came in from Ryan. Want me to answer it or - ”

Her voice, still slightly shaky and brittle, is nevertheless forceful as it comes from their bathroom. “I can answer it myself.” Her hand is outstretched and he takes the opportunity to kiss her as he gives her the cell phone. She doesn’t kiss him back.

While he waits for her to return to their bed, he finds himself considering the possible causes of whatever the fuck has been going on lately. Her drinking’s been getting worse, her mood swings have increased, and her smiles are less and less genuine. In the past, she’s fallen into periods of, he guesses, something like depression, but this is different. She’s both trying so damned hard with him but also avoiding him like it hurts to be with him. It almost feels like guilt, if he’s honest with himself, and it’s the one possibility he doesn’t even want to contemplate.

Looking at things from every angle, though, he can’t reject it out of hand. And that scares him.


	4. I Found Someone

“I gave up,” she eventually admits, her body tucked against his as they lay in her bed. “I just fucking gave up. I guess there comes a point where you have to admit you failed, y’know.”

He wants Gwen to realize that she didn’t fail at anything, that the only failure is her dickhead of an ex, but he also gets it, feels the burn of failure so hard still that it sometimes catches him unawares. 

“Do you think that maybe I could’ve saved it?”

“Sweetheart, I wasn’t in your relationship, I don’t know. Maybe you could’ve forgiven him, maybe you could’ve moved on and things would’ve been fine. But I doubt it.”

“So do I,” she says on a sigh, her fingertips playing gently with his damp hair, curling it even more. “Like how do you even get past that? I’d accepted so much and - ”

“And he still shit all over you, over your trust and over your love.” Blake knows he sounds bitter, doesn’t even try to hide it. After all, she knows everything now, has even seen him cry a couple of times, even once post-coitus, embarrassingly enough. 

“Love me again?” she asks, and he can’t refuse, doesn’t even want to. Her hand curves around his ass, squeezes, and he shuts his eyes in pleasure, leans down to flick his tongue against her still hard nipple. The one solace of coming back to The Voice, of having to admit that the marriage everyone thought was perfect very much wasn’t, has been this, this friendship turned whatever the hell they’re doing now. The sex is great, beyond great, and sometimes he finds himself waking up in the middle of the night and just staring at her because he can’t believe it. And then he remembers that she’s just a person just like him, a person who is fucking to forget, who desperately needs affection and love and someone she can trust to give her both.

He can be that person for her. And if some nights, the nights where they cuddle closely, talk like teenagers on a first date and discover that maybe they’re not that different after all, he wants to be even more, maybe that’s okay too. 


End file.
